


sit and let rise

by OhDearieRozzie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Murder Husbands, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Likes To Bake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:29:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29856741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhDearieRozzie/pseuds/OhDearieRozzie
Summary: Hannibal left Will alone with an infinite supply of flour, sugar, and boredom, and returns to a sweet surprise.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	sit and let rise

**Author's Note:**

> I had a headcanon that Will baked a lot before Hannibal started tinkering with his head, purely because of that shot of Will's kitchen when he's barfing up Abigail's ear and there's a loaf of unsliced bread on the counter. Then this mess ensued.

Will was about to lose his godforsaken mind. Not because of any psychologists making their mark on his already-scrambled brain, nor because of unwanted serial killers making their home there (only one of them had that privilege nowadays, thank you very much.) No, see, Will was just bored. Idle hands were the devil’s workshop, and Will already lent his skills to him plenty. He’d fixed every squeaky door, every loose hinge, every damn appliance in the house that could withstand his mindless tinkering - he’d even taken up needle-point, but now he’d gone through his entire supply of blank fabric. And there wasn’t even another person he could invert the insides of at the moment. Hannibal (or Professor Stefan Rossi, as he was currently known), in all his infinite wisdom, allowed himself to be called away to a conference three cities over for the weekend, and they had agreed that there would be no killing without each other. Dammit.

It was three in the afternoon on Monday, and Will was sitting on the floor of their kitchen. His hands were fiddling with a loose thread on his (Hannibal’s) sweater, and his foot was tapping away at the cold tile. Then, rather dangerously, Will had a thought. 

\-----

The fridge and pantry were always kept well-stocked, what with Hannibal seeming to have a bitter vendetta against ordering-in, but it was a good thing that Will had taken a trip to the market. Flour, sugar, and leaveners were always in the house, but he was about to drain their whole supply. Practice makes perfect, and Will had been out of practice for quite a long time.

Growing up in the South, with a few grandma’s and designated neighborhood-aunties in every town, Will knew a few things: how to get a motor running decently, and how to bake nearly anything. Flour, sugar, fat, and a little bit of love was his saving grace in childhood, when he and his father couldn’t scrounge up the cash for food themselves. Bread, pies, cakes, cookies - the smell of these in the oven, and grounding motions of combining and kneading - they brought him back to the small memories of warmth and light in an otherwise dim and monotonous existence.

Will hadn’t put anything in the oven besides freezer tater tots in almost six years now. He’d last made a loaf of sandwich bread, left on the counter while he vomited an ear into his kitchen sink. There hadn’t been much time to delve back into the old hobby much in the past years, between being in jail and running after his cannibal, to then pretending to build a meaningful life without him, and then hiding from the feds for a year. Now, though, he indulged once more, and set the oven to preheat.

\-----

Hannibal walked in the front door at around nine in the evening, relishing the rush of warm air that greeted him from the night air. He took a breath in, preparing to call out for his lover, when he stalled, still in his shoes. Sugared lemon, pastry, rosemary, and stewed berries weren’t an unfamiliar scent in his home, but not familiar in his absence. He set down his travel bag, content to deal with it at a later time. He removed his shoes, and moved quietly through the entryway towards the kitchen.

Standing just past the kitchen doorway, Hannibal peered into the light, and his breath stalled in his chest. There by the counter stood Will, absolutely covered in flour, surrounded by a variety of baked desserts. Currently, he was drizzling a purple syrup over perfectly golden cream puffs, which were filled with a milder purple cream. He turned, bending to pull their bright red dutch oven pot out of the oven, he set the pot down, and gingerly lifted the encased loaf of bread out, leaving it to cool on the nearby wire rack.

Hannibal took this time to ease his way into the kitchen, coming up behind Will and draping his fingers over Will’s eyes. He could feel the skin under the other man’s eyes curl up, betraying the smile hidden from his view.

“Well hello to you too, darlin’,” Will drawled out, his smile growing wider. He seldom hid his accent anymore - didn’t hide any of himself anymore, really. 

“Hello, dearest,” Hannibal said, removing his hands from Will’s eyes and placing them on his hips, turning his partner around to face him. They met in a gentle kiss, Will’s smile never fading. “What do we have here, then?”

Will, evidently proud that he retained the ability to surprise Hannibal still, broke their pseudo-embrace, and began gesturing to the various cooling racks and platters scattered about their kitchen counters.

“These are some lemon tea cakes my Aunt Jenny taught me. The recipe originally came from my mom,” Will began. The cakes were simple, decorated only with a simple dusting of powdered sugar. 

Next was a platter of two kinds of cookies, one covered in cinnamon sugar, the other was some sort of chocolate oatmeal. “Snickerdoodles and, uh, Missouri Mud cookies. I always made snickerdoodle cookies with my Grandma Jane on Christmas, and Missouri Mud was the only kind of dessert my dad could handle. He was more of a ‘stick it in the microwave and hope for the best’ kind of guy.” Will picked up one of the chocolate cookies, Missouri Mud, and gently bent it in half. “They’re no-bake, so pretty easy to make.”

The extra-purple cream puffs were the next stop, and Hannibal lifted one to inspect it closer. He smelled berries and flowers, and let himself give a little smile at the aroma. 

“Cream puffs with blackberry and cream cheese filling, and some lavender syrup. I had a bunch of wild black berries and flowers back in Virginia, so I experimented a little.” Hannibal set down the puff, wrapping an arm around Will’s waist. That earned him a quick peck on the cheek.

Will turned them towards the oven, and waved a hand in front of a circular loaf of bread, a series of x’s slashed into the top to form a crown of sorts. The smell of fresh herbs wafted off of it, still hot from the oven.

“Sourdough, with rosemary and basil from the garden. I sort-of killed the bread you made last week while you were gone.” Will rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, awaiting a response. When he received none, he continued, “You left me no choice, I had nothing to do all weekend.” His tone was humorously petulant, and he raised a finger to poke at Hannibal’s cheek.

Hannibal shifted to look the other man in the eyes, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. Will’s hair had gotten quite long, since their dive into the ocean. He would never admit to adoring the way Hannibal regarded the mess on his head, weaving his hands into his locks whenever he could. 

“I missed you too, my love.” Hannibal placed a quick kiss to Will’s forehead, whispering the words into his skin. He pulled back a tad, just enough to meet Will’s eyes.

“If you continue at this rate, you just may take my place in the kitchen.” Hannibal remarked, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. It was a little humorous to imagine; Will, marching around in an apron, trying to assemble a rude pedestrian’s liver into a rose.

“Bold of you to assume that you’d allow that at all; I’d sooner end up in the crock pot.” Will admonished, poking Hannibal in the chest this time. “Besides, I probably pushed my luck this time.” 

Hannibal quirked an eyebrow, a smirk beginning to play at his lips. “Oh really?” He shifted to look more fully at Will’s face, noting the challenge rising in his eyes. “And what’s to be done about that?”

Will stood on his tiptoes, placing a peck on Hannibal’s lips. Pulling away, he said, “Race ya upstairs, doll.”

Suddenly, patience was a virtue which neither of them possessed.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently debating whether or not to write a witch fic next because Will literally lives in the fucking woods and collects sticks and rocks and shit; that is some Witchy Behavior.
> 
> Here’s the recipe I referenced for one of Will’s baked goods - the cream puffs!
> 
> https://youtu.be/JaVaEvZKtKk
> 
> Anywho, thank ya kindly for reading! Any feedback is appreciated! Much love to you!


End file.
